


gravity

by raikkonen (armario)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Masochism, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:44:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21242072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/raikkonen
Summary: "What?" Charles asks, both panicked and defensive. "Is there something really wrong with me?"





	gravity

**Author's Note:**

> I can't tag this properly but it's not a happy fic, so don't read if you think you might be affected.
> 
> Edit: taken off anon.

It's a testament to Max's character that this is the first time he's ever hurt him.

There's decent force behind it.

"You're not even fucking listening to me!" Max shouts, bordering on a scream.

Charles blinks. Maybe he has brain damage. It wasn't that hard of a slap but nothing else could explain what just happened; the pain radiating out from his face sweeping down his neck, and the unexpected pleasure accompanying it.

He moves his jaw to make sure everything is working. It's more of a stinging pain in his cheek than anything.

His ears are ringing. His boxers are soaked with come and his mind is going in circles asking what is wrong with me?

"Max," Charles says faintly. His voice sounds far away. He forgets what they were even arguing about, even though it must have been serious.

"I don't give a shit. You never listen to me. You push me so hard and then when I break, you back off. I hate it. I hate you sometimes, do you know that?"

"Max," Charles repeats, pleading for something he doesn't know what, unintentionally shaky. His knees feel kind of weak.

Max has always refused to hurt him. No matter how much Charles goads him into it.

Max exhales. He scrubs his hands roughly over his eyes.

"I'm sorry I hit you," he mutters.

Charles glances over at him in dull disbelief. He has to sit down, so he sits next to Max on the bed.  
His rival is pointedly looking away from him. His knuckles are white, clutching the bedcovers, and his face is just as ashen.  
It clicks slowly in Charles' brain that Max looks scared. He's scared that he messed up and hurt him; maybe he'll do it again, maybe he'll lose control and it won't just be a hard slap, it will be a punch, and Charles' jaw will break.

"It's okay," he says dumbly, risking another wave of anger.

"How can you say that?" Max hisses.

Charles bites his lip. He takes Max's hand and guides it beneath his sweatpants, to feel the wetness spreading across his underwear.

"What the fuck," Max breathes, fingers brushing over Charles' soft cock for a second before pulling away. His gaze snaps up to meet Charles', fathomless dark. "When did you...?"

Charles points at his cheek, a red mark forming on the skin.

Max screws his eyes shut.

"That is so messed up," he whispers.

Charles kisses him, soft and questioning. Max lets him do it without much reciprocation, the faint taste of blood on his tongue, from where Charles accidentally bit the inside of his cheek when Max hit his face.

"How did you even do that?" Max pulls back to murmur.

"I don't know! I wasn't even hard," Charles answers, flushed. "You just hit me and-" Max flinches- "and I came. Just like that."

Max stares at him.

"What?" Charles asks, both panicked and defensive. "Is there something really wrong with me?"

Well, yes. Several things.

"I don't know," Max shrugs. He trails his fingertips over the mark on Charles' face, frowning. "Has it ever happened before?"

"No."

"Has anyone ever done that to you before?"

"...No."

Charles looks nervous. It's a novelty. Among the guilt and anger, Max is so worried about him.

"You should go and shower," he tells him quietly. "I'll get you some clean boxers."

"Are you mad at me? Are you mad at me because I-"

"Yeah," Max answers shortly. He feels cruel, but he's furious at Charles for what he did, he's furious at himself for losing it like that. And now he's unsettled, because he knows it's stupid but all he can recall is a Wikipedia article about serial killers and murder and spontaneous ejaculation.

And it's another grim reminder that there is nothing normal about this, about them.

He stands up, pacing the room like a caged lion. Charles looks up at him in distress, twisting his hands in his lap.

"I'm never going to hurt you like that again," Max vows.

Charles opens his mouth to say something, surely in objection. He doesn't even have to say it; Max can read his disappointment in the downward set of his mouth.

"Don't, Charles," Max warns, disgusted. "I know what you're thinking. It's fucked up."

He catches himself saying it a lot. Charles is strange. He has unexplainable reactions to things; and unconventional wants.

Charles nods slowly.

"Don't feel bad, okay?" he pleads. If Max tries to break it off just because of one mistake, he won't be able to cope. He gets up and takes Max's hand, trying to assuage his guilt. "It's fine. I still love you."

Max meets his gaze, unease clouding his features. "I know. That's the problem."


End file.
